


keep none for myself

by pendules



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3093023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I give hope to Men. I keep none for myself." (<i>The Lord of The Rings: The Return of The King</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep none for myself

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really struggling to come to terms with this. So fic happened, obviously. And I was watching ROTK before all of this went down, and I actually thought about how well that quote fits Stevie, and how sad that really is.

It's like - what do you do when you love something that causes you so much pain. What do you do when the very act of _loving_ is the thing that hurts.

Maybe you should run far, far away. Maybe you should give up decades and decades of your life to it, let it bleed you dry, until there's nothing left.

What happens is: You hope for _so long_ , and you give it away to everyone who needs it, until there's none left for you. It never was _for_ you. It's not about you. In the end, you're just a symbol of something greater.

And you do run, eventually. Maybe you want to be a _person_ again.

*

Istanbul isn't about _you_ , not about the team, or the club, or the fans. Not really. Istanbul is about the _story_. The story that will be told thousands, millions of times, to kids, to grandkids. The story that will be discovered by people who weren't there or who weren't alive. The one that will bring tears to their eyes and chills to their bones and fullness to their hearts. The greatest story ever told.

The story we've always been telling, really: Everything is possible. Everything you could ever think, dream, imagine. Every single idea that's ever been conceived in the minds of children. It exists; it's real. In some universe. In some universe, you're a hero, you're a warrior, you're a king, you're a leader of men. You're everything, all at once, you're bigger than the sun and stars, you're burning bright at every point in space and time. If it's in your head, then it's out there, waiting for you, in some universe. 

And that universe could be yours.

*

You're lucky - you're so, so lucky. People live their whole lives and never find something to love like this.

You remember that first day, celebrating like you'd won the European Cup, because that's what it was. You'd won something. Won everything. Won this chance, this life. Won the opportunity to do something with it: to be amazing or to throw it away. It doesn't matter which it will be; you have it, it's yours, right now. Whatever happens, you had it, it belonged to you, you got to own it completely the way so few ever get to really own anything in their lives.

What happens is: You _are_ amazing.

But it doesn't belong to you anymore.

*

You do it because you have to. Because you're still so young and being a Liverpool player is still this new, wonderful thing, and then Houllier's giving you this thin strip of cloth that feels like it's made of lead, weighing you down, like you're sinking into the ground, like you can't keep your head above water.

It's okay - the Captain is supposed to go down with the ship. He's supposed to save everyone else.

What happens is: You do the saving thing a lot. It becomes what's expected of you. The default. Not just something extraordinary you're capable of saved for extraordinary circumstance. Steven Gerrard. Saviour. Talisman. Leader of Men. _Idea_. Every day. Every second. You do it because you have to. Because you were that kid in the stands once, because you can't let him down. You have to give him that chance to believe in impossible things.

Leading means being truly alone. You're always going to go down all alone.

*

Chelsea, well - Chelsea was never going to happen.

Chelsea would mean turning into something else, someone who doesn't have the same beating, blood-red heart you do. 

When you love something your whole life, it leaves scars. Underneath. On the inside. Reminders. Reminders that it can hurt you every day for an eternity and it still wouldn't hurt as much as walking away would. 

You'd have to rearrange every cell in your body to ever get rid of it. You'd have to claw it out of your chest with your bare hands and spill it across the farthest corners of the universe.

You don't know how to be anyone else but who they've made you. 

*

Something changes in Athens.

Because you couldn't do it. And it doesn't feel like you let them down, doesn't feel like you're floating down to the bottom of the sea with every last passenger on board. It just - it just feels like disappointment. You weren't good enough; your team wasn't good enough. And that's kind of a comforting thing to know. Sometimes it's good to fail just so you know you can survive it.

What happens is: You pack it up, you go home, you'll be back next time.

Or you won't be.

*

It feels too easy - way, way, way too easy. You kiss the camera the first time, and you walk away feeling like a triumphant conqueror. And they never stood a chance, really.

Because you came down like an army of avenging angels. You were bringing justice, righting the balance, realigning the earth on its axis. 

It's supposed to be _right_. It all slots into place. It's _perfect_. It's supposed to be yours for the taking.

What happens is: You let it slip through your fingers.

Maybe you really did lack the courage of your convictions. Or maybe it was enough. Maybe proving a point is enough for now.

*

(There's a dream, one of the last ones you had left:

Winning the League, leaving on a high, restoring the glory a second time.

You come close, twice, but it wasn't time. It wasn't - it wasn't meant to be, you convince yourself, and that's a romantic thought, but if you can't be romantic about football, then what _can_ you be romantic about?

In the end, it wasn't meant to be at all. 

Maybe - maybe lightning doesn't strike twice. Maybe magic is a finite resource. Maybe you've used up all of yours. Maybe you had your shot, your one perfect night. You almost believe this after bitter draws and near misses. But something always happens, something brilliant and reigniting, and you think, _Oh, here we go again._

But it never lasts. You always come crashing right back down.

Everything's possible, and that's still true and right and real, but the inherent chaos in that means that nothing is ever certain.)

*

It's when you win against City and the tears start falling, that's when you know. It's going to be the end of something. Whether you win or lose the League, there'll be no coming back from it. If you lose, you lose your hope. If you win, you lose your dream. There won't be anything left for you.

One thing you know: Magic is real. It's flowing in your veins.

But the universe is a fucked-up mess of ironies and inevitabilities.

What happens is: You slip.

It's all over.

*

Saviour. Talisman. Leader of Men. Ideas are nothing without people to believe in them.

They'll find something else, they'll believe in something else. It's not about the symbol; it's about their belief. Their belief is their strength. It's all just a symbol - the club, and the sport, and a ball, eleven men on a pitch. They're supposed to believe in it so they can learn to believe in themselves.

(But for a second, just a second, you almost thought they believed in _you_.)

What happens is: You leave because you have to.

"I'm _so sorry_ ," he says, the words sounding like they've been wrenched out of him.

"It was worth it. Of course it was worth it," you tell him. "Every second."

And you believe that, with everything you have.

**Author's Note:**

> Unnamed character can be whoever you picture in your head (though it's probably Xabi in mine).


End file.
